Skarlet Brown (Myra)

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

This reminder from Ram Dass is a hard reset. It is a call for me to drop the baggage, quit the rehearsal, and just inhabit the room i’m currently standing in.

My innate awareness doesn't need to be manufactured, forced, or polished for performance. I need to stop cluttering the space. Let the noise settle, let the appearances be what they are, and just exist right here. There is immense power in realizing that this exact moment is entirely enough. ❤️

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

@CalvinAyre The present is timeless

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Look at the foto to see my friend’s altar.
I run in the mornings now instead of going to the gym at night, to save money. Then I sit under my neighbor’s tree to chat with my friend every morning around seven, and there he is , Kuya. I don’t know his real name. Never asked. He directs parking on our street, hustles forty pesos a car outside the restaurants, sleeps wherever the night sets him down.
Today I saw him sleeping in my neighbor’s front garden, tucked between the pots.
I watched him sleep, hoping he’d wake up and chat with me. I moved closer to where he was, and at his feet — small enough to close a fist around — I saw a tiny statue of Christ. A fresh flower in front of it. Placed there on purpose, by a man who owns nothing.
That did something to me I wasn’t ready for.
I want to write that it made me feel grateful, made me count my blessings, made me realize how lucky I am. No. That would be me, making his faith about my comfort. I’m not doing that.
Here’s what I actually feel. I didn’t see it because I’m special. I saw it because it was speaking. The flower Kuya placed in front of that tiny Christ wasn’t a lesson, wasn’t a sign, wasn’t there to make my morning poetic. It is faith.
I think faith looks like that more than it looks like anything we perform on Sundays. Faith is small. Faith is a man with no bed still choosing something beautiful to look at before he closes his eyes. Not because he’s certain things will get better. Because gratitude doesn’t wait for proof.
And the resilience that comes out of faith — real resilience — is soft. It’s tender in a calloused, harsh world. Kuya is not hardened by the street. He is still placing flowers for God. That’s the part people miss when they turn men like him into a mere street beggar instead of a person.
So what do I do with what I saw? Do I center it on my relationship with God, or turn it into my epiphany… his hunger into my content, his faith into my branding?
What I can do is point. Point at what’s already there. Tell you that the man arranging cars outside your favorite restaurant might be keeping a cleaner altar than half the churches you’ve walked past. Tell you to look, really look, at who’s next to you, because they are placing flowers too, and most of us are too busy to notice.
Kuya, as he slept, taught me something. I’m just the mirror that happened to catch the light at the right angle.
I will bring him coffee when he wakes. That’s not the gift, though. The gift was already given… to me.

#skarletbrown
#fornowforalways
#skarletjournal
#allthecolorsofme
#theflame 🔥

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Come with me on a journey beneath the skin. Happening this 15th , 7pm at Hooga Listening Room & Cafe . I will be with Dix Lucero on Alto Sax and Ariel Rebadulla on keys. Limited seats.
HOOGA is along Jupiter St., Bel-Air , Makati City.

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

They call me a vampire. I’ll take that as a compliment.
55 years old on paper. People guess 40. My mind never left its early 30s, and honestly, I like it there.
No commercial anti-aging stuff — I find it a waste of money. No maintenance meds. Just castor oil + VCO, every day 🌿. Three years avoiding sugar. And a mind that refuses to let a number dictate how alive I get to feel.
I didn’t do this to look younger. I did it because I still have so much living left to do… music to write 🎶, stages to stand on, a world to help heal. Turns out when you take care of your body like it’s a long-term investment, it pays you back. I also choose very few elegant, kind, driven women as friends.
Here’s what I know now that I didn’t at 30: aging isn’t the enemy. Neglect is. Give your body real food, real rest, real joy, and it will carry you further than you think.
And okay, yes — I’m still hoping to find Him 🙈. The one who’ll kiss me like it’s the best part of his day, hug me like he means it, dance with me to jazz or any good vintage music, actually enjoys the gym, smart (not a smart-ass), and wants to make this world a better place each day.
I still blush… I’m still 30 at heart.

#AgelessLiving #SlowAging #Jazz #powerful #goodchangefortheworld

https://t.co/zYEXAXmP5H

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

She hated my tattoos. Then she asked to become one.
There’s an old text that tells the beginning like a chain… breath becoming wind, wind becoming water, on and on, each thing born from the one before it. Nothing comes from nowhere. Everything alive came out of something that came first. I came out of Mamang.
She hated my tattoos. Spent years asking why I’d ruin such beautiful skin… the skin she gave me.
Then the Alzheimer’s came. Slow at first. Then the names went. Then faces. Then, piece by piece, her own. And one day I sat close to her and asked: Mamang, will you let me put your face here, over my heart, so the first thing I see every morning in the mirror is you? The woman who hated ink her whole life , her face broke open with joy. Because she understood what I was really asking. Let me keep you somewhere the disease can’t reach. Let me carry you even after it takes everything else.
She’s in heaven now watching over me. And I’ll tell you the truth … I’m crying as I write this, the way I do every single time she rises up in me, and I’ve stopped fighting it. Some people you don’t get over. You just learn to carry the missing like a stone in your pocket, smooth from how often your hand goes to it. I reach for her in the dark and say her name out loud…. Mamang…. and even now, even with her gone, something in me goes quiet, like a child whose mother just walked into the room.
I miss her in the morning when the coffee’s too quiet. I miss her in the small wins nobody else would understand were wins. I miss her hands. I miss being someone’s child. The missing never got smaller ….. it just moved in and learned to live in the house with me.
But here is the mercy. As I get older, I look in the mirror and there she is. I see her. Her eyes. The same set of her lips. She’s surfacing in my own face, a little more every year, I didn’t need the tattoo after all. She was always going to find her way back up through my skin. Alzheimer’s took her memories, but it couldn’t touch this: the way she lives on in the bones of my face, the breath of her still moving in me. She isn’t only behind me. She’s rising up inside me, and she’ll keep rising as long as I’m here to carry her.
And here’s the whole truth of it: I miss Mamang so much, who came before me, and I ache for my daughter Maru, who came after. and somehow it’s the same love, running in two directions at once.
There’s a line from Gibran I keep close: our children are not ours to keep. They come through us, not from us. They belong to themselves, and the whole work of loving them is to set them free to go find out who they are. I understand that now in a way I couldn’t before because I was once the daughter who left. I needed to go find myself, live on my own terms…. become. And I did it without fully seeing what it cost the woman watching me walk away. Now I know. Now I carry the other end of it. Now I feel the exact ache Mamang must have swallowed quietly while she let me go … the ache of loving someone so much you release them anyway, because keeping them small would be the opposite of love. She never made me feel guilty for becoming myself. That was her final gift, and I only understood it once I was standing in her shoes.
So this is me, holding the chain from both ends. Grateful to the mother who let me go. Learning to be the mother who lets go too. The missing isn’t weakness — it’s just love with room to breathe. They came before us, they come after us, they pass through us on their way to themselves. And loving them has never meant holding on. It’s meant opening the hand.
That’s how the breath keeps moving. That’s how love stays alive — not by gripping, but by letting go and trusting the chain to hold.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY , MY MAMANG.
#Fornowforalways
#allthecolorsofme

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

I needed to listen to this again. ❤️Ram Dass.

https://t.co/7ALExRVfGU

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

@CalvinAyre Happy Canada D’eh 🎶

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

I’ve known Nanay Edita for 18 years now, since I was building TEN02.
She walks around the Scout area every day, selling bundles of fruit for ₱100. I always buy apples from her.
Sometimes, after a gig, I’d find her resting outside Chili’s late at night. I’d buy her a bowl of mami from my suki rolling eatery. Most mornings, I’d see her again, apples in hand, and she’d ask me the same question every time:
“Nag-jogging ka?”
One day, my very pretty suki mami vendor told me, “Ma’am, ninakawan si Nanay. Kinuha ang paninda niya at ang perang benta niya.”
I asked, “Sino?”
“Dalawang binatilyo.”
My next question wasn’t about the money.
“Sinaktan ba si Nanay?”
“Hindi naman daw.”

I know most of the vendors and street people from Morato all the way to my street. After all these years, they’ve become family too. I admire them—not because life has been kind to them, but because they show up every single day anyway.
This morning, Nanay and I are sharing a simple cup of hot milk.
“Smile, Nanay. Selfie tayo.”
If you ever see Nanay Edita walking around the Scout area with her fruits, buy a bundle if you can. She is always here in front of BDO in the morning. Hope to see some of you here. You won’t just be taking home apples or oranges. You’ll be helping someone who’s spent years quietly earning an honest living, one street, one smile, and one customer at a time.

Good morning, everyone. ☕️❤️🔥

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

I feel shy accepting tips, whether big or small—though I do love gifts. Most of the time, I pass those tips along to my bandmates or someone else. So i gave mine to a cute server, and he came back with a bottle of Pinot Noir, an immediate reward indeed. Cheers to the right jazz paying gigs , generous clients, backstage laughter, good food, and exquisite wine! I wish i have gigs like this everyday. Give it to me ! 🎶❤️🔥

#jazzsinger #Philippines #events #gigs #corporateevents #SkarletBrown

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

@Rapigna7 AI

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Some months are for hoping. Some are for becoming. I waited for June. June never showed up.
July, I’m showing up for myself. And it starts with the launch of All the colors of me, a compilation of my poems from 2017-2025. Next my reggae EP, my 7 deadly sins EP , then Virtues, then the launch of my NGO , then the pilot of my platform. July is a rebirth.
Wish me luck, flame. 🔥

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Burn. And let them squint.
The old wisdom says the stars are awake. Each one knows what it is, and burns full blast… doesn’t ask, doesn’t shrink, doesn’t check if the other stars are comfortable. A rock on fire, a billion miles out in the cold, knows what it is doing than us. We’re down here forgetting our own names, and the sky’s been sure of itself the whole time.
Somebody calls us too loud, too opinionated, too assertive, too much… and we believe them. We turn the flame down to a sad little light so nobody has to squint.
A star would laugh at us. A star doesn’t take a vote before it burns. We call that dimming “humble.��� It’s not humble. It’s just fear in a nicer coat. So burn. Quit waiting for permission that’s never coming. Quit believing people who gossips or backstab you or call you names. Renember what you are and light up the whole damn room. Not bragging — knowing. Bragging is loud because it’s empty. Knowing doesn’t have to raise its voice. Whatever made you turn yourself down — turn it back up. The sky’s not full. It was never full. There’s room for your fire. So burn, baby ! And let them squint!
🔥#skarletjournal

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

@handcashapp Reply to my email please

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Let’s watch something stupid—
the kind of funny that makes no sense,
and laugh until we forget the plot.
We can be quiet too.
Just breathing the same air is enough.

Did you hear the song I made for you?

Let’s forget who others think we are.
With each other we are no one.
With each other we are seen.

Call me.

[Skarlet Brown (Myra) @SkarletMyra]

Sang for KAWA Phils fundraiser. I’m a proud volunteer and official KAWA artist. Let’s feed the world ❤️